Sometimes I just feel like I'm a terrible boyfriend.

I can't go to work tonight.

I'm so scared right now.

It's hard to sit and wait, and have nothing but hope to hold on to when you haven't an idea what to expect.

I don't want to lose Camille. I can't. I've worked too hard, she means too much to me.

I'd change anything for her.

FUCK YOU SO FUCKING MUCH RIGHT NOW

Every fucking weekend turns out like shit.

I hate all of this fucking bullshit.

Last night sucked majorly, and tonight is already looking like it's going to blow.

I can't believe I actually look forward to ANYTHING anymore. Why the fuck do I do that? I just ruin everything.

So this was the lamest weekend I've ever had. Easily.

Summertime, and the living is easy.







One more final and a proficiency essay.

Almost there.

This Ben Folds song should not affect me like this.

I don't understand what's going on, and I can't handle it. I'm not ready.

I smoke cigarettes, and I smoke weed. It isn't that big of a deal.

So biggest, but most concise update ever:

As of right now, I've been in a four month long relationship with Camille, and it's still going strongly.

I quit working at Marble Slab a few months ago, and now I'm a line-cook at Reginelli's Lakeview.

I smoke weed more occasionally than less.

I go to UNO.

And I every so often have a series of doubts that go through my mind about my life.






I'd say that I am an average human being.

I can't even fucking explain myself to the one person I've grown able to talk to.

That's how obnoxious this is.

Sorry for being vague, but I'm being monitored.

Camille is no fun to talk to on the phone when I'm updating my journal because she expects me to talk to her and write this at the same time, which is impossible.

But yeah, I'm back in town, hopefully for good. 

And Camille makes funny noises when she eats a pear while on the phone.

Best ever.

So this is just ridiculous.

Really ridiculous.

WHAT?!? ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS? Hypocrite.

So this is a few days late but for some reason while I zoned out in math I just got really angry about this again, so I decided to put it into my livejournal. Ahem,

I don't give a shit about what you think considering you know next to nothing on the topic. It's simply amazing how you can have the audacity and gall to berate and lecture me on this kind of shit when you're the one who fucked me over entirely for about four months. I finally moved the fuck on and started over and this is how you fucking act? Give it a rest. You're. Fucking. Loss.

And don't give me your shit about how you think our relationship is going to change. Of course it's going to fucking change. I spent every second I was with you flirting so that maybe you'd make up your goddamned mind. Yeah, like I'm going to keep doing that shit. I don't know how to act around you now. But seriously, don't you dare tell me what to do.

hahahahahahaha, this is so fucking vague. It's not like anyone really reads this. The only person who does already knows all of this. I <3 u Laura Marshall. GET THAT TATTOO!!

In other news, Ted Leo covered Daft Punk, Of Montreal did Purple Rain, and Final Fantasy covered Destroyers at Fun Fun Fun. I also bought a pair of corduroy shorts and a plaid shirt with two rock 'n roll guitars embroidered above the pectoral area.

So I don't remember much. This is what I do remember, though.

So at first I just really needed to sit down. So I did. Then I really wanted to lie down, so I did that as well. Then someone carried me, and I was on the grass next to a fence while some random people I didn't know talked to me. One guy was really pretty cool and kept me laughing, which I guess helped me to keep breathing. The only person I knew around me was Allison. I'd randomly see her standing to the side. That was comforting. Like, really comforting.

Then I was on a stretcher, being pushed around for God knows how long. I finally ended up in the ambulance, and for some reason it seemed a lot smaller inside than I expected it to be. The ride was pretty smooth, but I think that might have been because I was strapped in so tightly.

The nurse at the hospital was wearing a yellowish puke colored pair of scrubs, and she had she had short hair. Dyke, maybe? Regardless, she was a bitch. She kept trying to get me to 'confess' the drugs I had taken at Voodoo. I told her that I only took one hit off of the weed, but that dumb, yellow puke colored bitch didn't believe me. Whatever, she's dyke, and she has to live with that. She also tried to take my blood pressure like five times, laying down, sitting up, and standing up. When she stood me up, I got nauseas and threw up on the ground. That's what she gets, that dyke.

The doctor I had was old and bald, but seemed like a cool guy. He put some medicine in my IV that made me go to sleep.

I woke up in my bed at my house, and really wanted to talk to Camille. My phone wasn't by me though, so I had to find it. As I got out of bed, I realized I had a bandage around my left arm, from the IV, and a thing on my right arm from where they drew blood. I had all these plastic things stuck to me chest and on either calf. Probes, apparently. I got my phone, called Camille, she didn't answer. So I called Allison.

And I thanked her for staying with me as long as she did.

So my mom woke up and told me that I had to go to sleep. She said that if I feel up to it, I can go to Voodoo tomorrow. That's good, because I still have to buy Sarah's shirt. Small and Black.

So things worked out for the best, regardless of my pessimism. I'm really happy, too. Hurrah!

I think I may have screwed myself over.

Oh, goodness.

So Emma asked me to a dance. I'm really excited about that. Like, really effing excited.

radiohead

in rainbows

faust arp